


Hate is a four letter word

by Kiimo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 23 year old harry and draco who r just trying to heal from their trauma, Depression, Enemies to Lovers, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Slow Burn, more like idiots to idiots tbh, well kind of?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiimo/pseuds/Kiimo
Summary: Harry Potter is doing perfectly fine, thank you very much. Harry Potter doesn’t hate his job, or his life. What Harry Potter does hate, is how often he has to rescue Draco Malfoy from impending death. What Harry Potter hates, is how often he’s seeing Draco Malfoy these days, and how often he catches himself smiling in his presence. Harry Potter definitely knows the meaning of the word hate.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	1. It's fine

**Author's Note:**

> So. Here we are uh. Drarry fic. in 2020.  
Listen we all need ways to cope in this quarantine, and mine is writting drarry fic. It's my self care ship.
> 
> The writting process for this so far is basically me asking my friends who read the books/ remember this whole franchise better than me if certain stuff are canon and then ignoring their answers.  
So if you see stuff and you think "hold up that doesn't work within the canon" then know that i simply will not care. My city now
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter, I'm pretty confident in my ability to finish this fic!

Harry Potter is doing perfectly fine, thank you very much. Stable job, a nice flat, well, a flat at least, friends who love him. Plus the world hasn’t been destroyed in a huge bloody war! Really, what more could a guy ask for? He has no place to complain, so he doesn’t. He does his job, he saves people, he gets blasted with Ron at the pub, he laughs with Hermione, and he feels fine.

Harry Potter doesn’t hate his job, that’s just ridiculous. He was meant for it, and it makes him feel useful. He knows he’s actually helping people, and that’s all that matters. Who cares if most of the time he’s bored out of his mind and buried under piles of paperwork? There’s still the realest part of being an Auror, what it’s all about, the action. Throwing his body headfirst into the danger, defending victims, blasting spells left and right. He loves it. 

Which is what he’s trying to remind himself of has he receives a new call to action. He loves it, loves the rush of adrenaline that goes through his veins. That’s what this is, adrenaline. Definitely not dread. He swallows his saliva, grabs his wand and runs off to find Ron. At least they’re still paired up together, a well oiled team. He knows Ron always has his back, hopes he’ll always be able to have Ron’s. And they work very well together, don’t even need to talk to know what the other will do.

“Where is the call coming for?” he asks Ron as they apparate.

“Uh, you’re not going to like it.” There’s no need for Harry to ask him to elaborate, because they’re already there. And yeah, Harry doesn’t like it.

“Fucking Malfoy manor?” 

“Told you.” Ron looks both apologetic and mocking, which Harry thinks is a pretty impressive feat, before shrugging and walking towards the manor. Harry debates on whether he should just fuck off, leave this one to Ron, but his duty pushes him forward, and it’s with an angry scowl and a heavy heart he enters Malfoy manor. 

He fucking hates the place, hasn’t been there since the war. He remembers the terrible events that transpired there as he walks in, and he can taste blood in his mouth. He knows Malfoy has been hosting charity galas in here, and has been trying fix it, heard about it in the papers. Every time he caught a glance of Malfoy in papers though, he folded them up and threw them in the trash. He doesn’t want to hear about Malfoy, doesn’t care about what he’s doing, doesn’t care about all the good publicity he’s desperately trying to raise.

And yet here he is, back in Malfoy manor. This better be important. He swears to god, if Malfoy pulled a prank call on the fucking wizarding police, he’s going to lose it. He walks in carefully through the empty rooms. The manor looks good he guesses, still looks like a disgusting display of wealth to him. It also looks empty, which puts him on edge. Ron takes the ground floor, so Harry walks up the marble stairs, tries to calm his nerves.

He hears noise from one of the bedroom, puts on his invisibility cape and carefully peers in. Malfoy is sitting in the corner of the room, eyes wide with fear, his wrists bound, a nasty bruise forming on his right cheekbone. Someone in a black robe is standing in front of him, their back turned to Harry. Malfoy’s eyes set on Harry, and they grow even wider. His mouth hangs open, and Harry thinks he looks fucking stupid, like a fish out of water. An ugly fish. 

But he is looking right at him. And Harry’s wearing his invisibility cape. So Malfoy must be able to see through invisibility spells, which is convenient in this specific situation, and something Harry wishes he knew in school, because that could have really fucked him up. Malfoy looks at Harry, than at the figure, then back at Harry. He must think Harry is taking too much time to rescue him or something, because he rolls his eyes, the absolute dipshit.

Still, Harry should probably do something about this home intrusion situation, even if it is Malfoy’s home. He silently casts a disarming spell, then, taking advantage of the hooded figure's surprise, throws himself at them, crashing into the wall. Malfoy screams out, and Harry really wishes he was anywhere else. But this is his job, so he magically bounds the intruder, calls up Ron, and rips their hood off.

He has no idea who that is. Which, you know, ok, he doesn’t know every criminal by face, but it makes the hood feels a bit anticlimactic. He casts a binding spell on them, right as Ron barges in.

“You found anyone else in the place?” 

“No.” Ron replies “Or if someone is here, they can hide from a locating spell and then we’re kind of fucked anyway so.”

“Alright, well I think this bugger is the only intruder then. We should take him in.”

Malfoy clears his throat then, and as Harry remembers he exists, his mood drops to the floor. 

“Would any of you beautiful saviors of the humanity kindly take the time to fucking untie the traumatised victim?” HIs voice is high pitched and cold, all sharp edges. God, Harry has not missed those notes since school.

Harry looks at Ron. “Can we just leave him here? Would anyone care, really?”

“If you do that, I will sue your pants off for Auror brutality.” Malfoy yells out from the corner. “ Do not tempt me, I won’t hesitate to take this to court.”

“Oh yeah, the magical ex-nazi versus the boy wonder who saved the world, that will go over well for you.” Harry smirks, but he still unties Malfoy with a flick of his wand, because he’s a nice person, and is known to often take higher road.

Malfoy rubs at his wrists, and he doesn’t reply with an insult or a sarcastic quip. He looks away, actually seems scared. Harry remembers he’s actually an home invasion victim, and tries to put the whole “sworn enemy since he was 11” thing on the back of his mind, and treat him like he would any other victim. It’s hard, but he tries.

He’s barely seen Malfoy in the 5 years that have passed since the war, only once at his trial, when he testified for him, in passing glances at newspapers, and at galas he was forced to attend he can count on one hand. Each time, they stared at each other uneasy, smiled for the photographs, and desperately tried to make small talk. He even shook his hand once or twice. Water under the bridge and all that. Well no, because Harry pretty much burned the bridge but you know, water. It’s there, there’s a river or something. This metaphor has gotten away from him.

Anyway, right now, Malfoy isn’t the 11 year old bastard taunting him, or the 22 year old making comments about the canapés. He’s a victim and maybe Harry should put a blanket around his poor traumatised shoulders. He’s not going to, because  
1) he doesn’t have a blanket on hand and  
2) he’s pretty sure Malfoy would burn it before it even grazed him, but he can at least get a medic to look at that bruise, and get the criminal out of his home as quickly as possible.

So they call renforcement to bring him in, and Harry’s charged with the case, and that means he needs to go back the next day to take Malfoy’s disposition. He tries to argue, asks why Ron can’t do it.

“Weasley has another case, and he can’t be taken off of it.” replies his boss, head buried in paperwork. She looks up, an eyebrow raised. “What, you can’t take care of it?”

“No, no I can. It’s just I.... It’s Malfoy.” 

She raises her eyebrow higher. Clearly she doesn’t understand how fullproof his argument is.

“We had...This whole deadly feud in school? He tried to kill me?”

“Yeah, well I don’t have anyone else to assign on this so, you know. Get over it. Don’t let him kill you.”

“You really overestimate my ability to talk to this man without trying to assassinate him.” 

“I’ll ask you again. Can you not do it?”

He sighs, puts his head between his arms.  
“No, no, I can do it. I’ll take care of it.”

“Good Because, you know, it’s your job Potter.”

“I know, I know. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Now get out of my office, I have other things than your weekly breakdown to take care off. 

He steps out of her office and sighs longingly against the closed door. He hopes this will be an open and shut case, because he really doesn’t want to spend any more time than he’s contractually obliged to with Malfoy. Tomorrow ought to be a fun day. At least he’s done with today.

He pops by Ron’s cubicle and asks him if he wants to walk out together. Ron agrees with an happy smile and a nod, picks up a messy pile of paperwork and indiscriminately shoves it in his bag, before putting out his coat and following Harry out. He pops a Bertie Botts bean in his mouth before leaving his office, offers one to Harry, who politely declines. The tall lean ginger loves sweets as much as the goofy 11 year old Harry first met, and that thought always brings a smile to Harry’s lips.

The smile is gone when he remembers his assignment, and he complains the whole way down. 

“I can’t believe they assigned it to me. This is gonna go badly, I can feel it. He’s gonna open his stupid mouth and I’m gonna cast a whole fish in it.”

“Seems mean to the fish.” Ron’s mocking him, isn’t taking his pain seriously.

“Ron Weasley.” He dramatically lays a hand on his heart. “How can you mock my pain like this. This is Malfoy we’re talking about. For all we know he could be plotting to kill me right now! What if this is all part of an evil plan?”

Ron just laughs. “Harry, not to defend Malfoy, because I hate the bastard as much as you do, but if he wanted to kill you, don’t you think he could have tried something earlier? Also, “getting assaulted inside one's own house” is kind of a bad start to an assassination plot.”

“Yeah well, maybe that’s what he wants us to think.”

“Sure Harry. But hey” he slaps an hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sure you can defend yourself right? A big strong auror like you? Versus pallid old Malfoy other there? No competition. Besides, you can tell me all about how terribly it went tomorrow night.”

“We’re still on for pub night then?”

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

And then Ron is walking away, whistling a tune, and Harry goes home. He lives in a small muggle flat, close enough to Diagon Alley that he doesn’t have to walk too much to get to work, but far away enough that he doesn’t get constantly recognised. When he was with Ginny, they lived right in the middle of the wizarding neighborhood, and walking around made Harry’s skin crawl. People kept turning around to gawk at him, children pointed at his scars, random strangers would scream out their gratefulness while he was out buying groceries. And, you know, it was fun the first few months, when he was still on that high of having just saved the world and coming back from the dead, but it quickly just became anxiety inducing.

When Ginny broke up with him, he didn’t want to spend more time than he needed in the wizarding world, so he left her the flat. Everything there reminded him of her, so he barely took any stuff in the move, just his clothes and the essentials. He stayed very sad for a long time, after Ginny broke up with him. He still gets sad, when he thinks too much about it, or when it’s too late, or when he’s already feeling bad about other stuff. It’s like she made a little hole in his heart when she left, and he can’t fill it up with anything, and sadness just keeps leaking out.

He’s fine, though. He’s doing better now. He got back into the dating scene, has a few more exes to add to his love life. It’s all fine. Ginny is happy too, seems much more accomplished now that she’s dating Luna then when she was with him, and he likes to tell himself that it doesn’t hurt. It does, obviously, but he likes to pretend it doesn’t. 

He tried dating witches and wizards, at first. But that was kind of the worst idea, because they all saw him as the chosen one, and if it was easy to find people, no one seemed to see past the perfect world saver varnish. And eventually, that varnish always crumbled, and they left. When he first got over Ginny, he dated a tall dark and handsome guy, a few years older than him, with golden brown eyes, who gave great hugs, and greater compliments. 

Harry only panicked a little bit about the whole bisexual thing, having one small breakdown in Hermione’s fireplace at 3 am. (“But no one told me I could also like boys?” “Your education lacked in so many departments I’m honestly not surprised Harry.”) But then Harry had a panic attack in front of him, broke a mug and ended up with blood all over his palms, and the tall pretty boy grew more distant, until he broke up with Harry by owl, insisting on how sorry he was, and how it wasn’t Harry, it was him. Harry knew it was all him though, isn’t that stupid, knows he doesn’t hold up to the savior the wizarding world knows him at.

Then, he got with a cute asian witch, with a round face and deep dimples when she smiled, and dark hair she kept short. He really liked her, thought maybe it could work out, but he barely had the time to settle in a feeling of domesticity before she told him it would never work out, in tears, that she didn’t feel like she could ever be enough for the great Harry Potter.

So then he thought alright, fuck this, I know about pop culture, I thought I was one until i was 11, I can date muggles. But that turned out to be a bust too, because he was always hiding so much from them, and saying he’s a cop isn’t that far from the truth, but it really doesn’t cover it at all either.

But at the time, he didn’t know that, so het got himself into muggle bars, let his body shake out loose and wild on the dancefloor. He drank good old regular non magical alcohol and thought the wizarding world really had a lot of catching up to do on music. The Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears? Come on.

He told people he got his scar from falling on keys as a baby, and they believed him and it was all so easy. He wasn’t seen as something he wasn’t. He was just Harry Potter, a regular old fella. Sometimes, he was Harry, the really good looking fella. Harry, the guy you want to make out with right now on this dancefloor oh god your hair looks so fucking good like that. And that was fun. That’s how he met his third girlfriend, a tall thin university student with long dreadlocks, who made him laugh until he spit his drink through his nose, and who could tie a cherry knot with her tongue.

She looked remorseful when she left him, but she said she felt like he was never truly there, like he was never actually speaking to her. Harry couldn’t exactly deny it, and what could he have told her? “No wait, I only act so distant because I’m a wizard. Here look I can make you levitate!” So he just watched her leave, and decided that dating maybe wasn’t for him.

He still brought people home, but they never stayed long. He likes to think it’s enough, that he doesn’t need anything more. It’s not, and it’s a constant ache in his chest, but he’s good at pretending. He still misses Ginny so much, tells himself she would have maybe stayed if he wasn’t so fucked up, so stuck inside his own head. He sees her sometimes, because he’s still invited to Weasley family reunions, and he thinks he’ll never have a relationship more fulfilling than what he had with her, thinks maybe he just isn’t deserving of that type of love.

He tries to not think about that, because it just bums it out, and because it isn’t fair. Not to Ginny, not to his friends. So what if he hasn’t been so lucky in the romance department in the past 3 years, he’s still surrounded by love! So much love, in fact, that he still doesn’t think he deserves any of it. He’s certain that one day, they’ll all realise their mistakes and leave him. That’s the childhood trauma for you, he guesses!

And you know, he can make jokes about it or try to rationally tell himself his friends do love him, that they’re grown people who can make their own decision and his 11 year old didn’t somehow trick them all into being his friends but, well, the feeling doesn’t go away that easily. So he goes to the pub nights, he laughs with his friends and he tries to see their love as genuine. Sometimes, he even succeeds, and he feels all warm inside, his heart singing out a happy little tune.

He walks up the stairs to his 5th floor flat (the elevator has been broken since he arrived), and unlocks the door to the studio he’s lived in for the past 3 years. It’s fine. Not anything too spectacular, but it’s fine. It’s enough. There’s a pipe in the bathroom that won’t stop leaking, no matter the fixing spells he throws at it, but he’s learned to live with it, doesn’t have the energy to try harder.

He drops his stuff with a heavy sigh, kicks off his shoes and heads to the cramped kitchen to cook his dinner. He likes cooking. It’s one of the only time of the day his mind actually shuts up. He’s been thinking about this recipe, a mushroom pie, since he got off of work. He whistles as he sets the fire and starts chopping the mushrooms. His fridge is small, but it’s always filled with fresh ingredients. It has to spend 30 minutes in the oven, so Harry tries to clean his flat in the meanwhile.

It shouldn’t be hard, the studio really is small, but Harry gets in these periods where he doesn’t have the energy to do anything after work, and so he sometimes lets the dishes in the sink accumulate, as well as the dust. It’s fine. He pulls up his sleeves, puts on some pop music, and starts by taking everything off the floor. There’s a surprising amount of stuff on it, dirty clothes and papers, mostly. He really needs to do a laundry run soon. Sure, he could vanish the stains away, but he always knows, and he ends up still feeling dirty.

Then the oven dings, and he gets to enjoy his pie. It’s really good, maybe only needs a touch more butter. He makes a mental note of it. He’s eating alone at his small table, when he remembers he has to see Malfoy tomorrow, and his heart drops in his chest. Urgh. Is there still time to quit his job and go live in the forest or some shit? No, no there isn’t. He also needs to interrogate the intruder tomorrow, but that’s far less of a burden on his mind than the prospect of having to talk to Malfoy for half an hour.

He goes to bed with anger and dread pulsating around his heart, and with Malfoy’s stupid fucking bruised face behind his eyelids.


	2. Tea's good, you suck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw here's chapter 2, hope you enjoy it!

Harry wakes up already tired, feels the weight of the day to come already crushing his chest. He sighs, puts on his glasses. The world isn’t blurry anymore but the weariness remains. He pushes his body out of bed, takes a quick shower and a big cup of coffee, no sugar, all black. It at least makes his heart rate shoot up, if it doesn’t really wake him up. Anxiety is just like energy, right? 

Oh well, might as well not delay the work day any further. He swallows his breakfast (cereals in milk, he never has the time for anything more), grabs his stuff and walks down his decaying stairs. No staircase should be allowed to creak and scream that much. He swears, one of these days, he’ll just walk through the steps. The sky is grey and heavy and, granted, when isn’t it in London, but still, it seems awfully fitting for the day he’s about to have. A pretty obvious omen, if you ask him.

He stops by his office to grab a notebook and a feather, waves at Ron as he passes by his desk. Ron smiles and yells after him.

“Don’t kill the victim Harry!”

“Can’t promise anything Ron!”

And before he can find a way to somehow skip this whole thing, he apparates outside of Malfoy manor’s gate. He didn’t have the time to actually see what it really looked like yesterday, but now he gets tolook around. The garden is pretty overgrown in places, but other than that it looks ok, maybe a bit less clean then before the war. He tries to open the gate, and a high pitched voice assaults him out of nowhere.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He looks around, confused. That’s not Malfoy’s voice, and no one is around.

“Up there boy, look up.”

He does, and there’s a little sculpted face at the top of the gate, with wiggly eyebrows, a little face that’s apparently talking to him. God he hates magic sometimes.

“Well done, at least you can follow simple commands. Now answer me, what are you trying to do?”

“Hum.” Harry feels pretty dumb arguing with a door but he guesses weirder things have happened. “Trying to enter Malfoy manor?”

“And do you happen to know the unlocking spell?”

“No?” He says it like it’s a question, hopes maybe the door will take pity on him and unlock by itself.

“Then I must ask you to turn back young man, I do not unlock for simply anyone.”

“Look, can you just tell Malfoy he’s got a visitor? This is Auror business.”

The door scoffs at him, which isn’t something he ever thought he’d see, but it closes its eyes and Harry assumes his message is being dispatched. He waits for a moment, worries he’s just been stood up by a bloody door, when finally the gate unlocks and lets him through. Already sick of this whole thing before he’s even seen Malfoy’s face, Harry crosses the path through the manor door.

The door unlocks before he has to knock, and there’s stupid fucking Malfoy, with his stupid fukcing face, looking down at him. His face is locked in a neutral polite smile for a microsecond before he recognises Harry and then he just says “No.” before slamming the door right in Harry’s face.

“Hey, open up!” Harry bangs on the door, fury starting to rise in his chest. “This is official Auror business. I’ll come back with a warrant, do not fucking tempt me.”

He waits for a second, then starts banging again. The door opening agan takes him by surprise and he almosts punches Malfoy in the face. 

“Do you want to add auror brutality to the constantly lengthening list of your crimes?” snarls Malfoy. “This whole suing business isn’t off the table, you know.”

“Would you just let me in?” sighs Harry.

“What do you want?” Malfoy crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, apparently fine with just staying there instead of just letting Harry in his house so he can do his fucking job.

“I came here for tea and biscuits with my old pal from school! What do you think I came here for you asshole, I have to take your testimony.”

“Oh.” Malfoy genuinely looks like he didn’t even consider that. “Why did they sent you?”

“No one else was available.”

“But don’t they know about our, our…” Malfoy does a vague hand gesture, searches for his words.

“Our feud? Yeah I tried to tell them. They don’t care.”

“Tch. No one holds any respect for long standing feud anymore. Where are we going as a society if even deadly duels can be looked over? Oh well, get in then, if you must. Don’t get your dirty shoes on the carpet.”

Harry walks in, almosts wants to step right on the carpet out of spite, but decides that kind of childish behavior would get in the way of Malfoy’s testimony, and he would stay there even longer, so he doesn’t, barely twitches his leg. He’s looking around at the huge vestibule, with it’s long green carpet and majestic chandelier. None of the candles are lit but, well, it is day time, so that’s not really surprising. He’s lost in contemplation when Malfoy clears his throat.

“Could I offer you some tea?” Malfoy’s face is a mask of pain. Harry can’t help but smile at it.

“Wow did that hurt to get out?”

“You have no idea. But I haven’t been raised in a barn so, tea?”

“Oh yeah, not a barn, more like a snake pit.”

He’s pretty sure he can ear Malfoy’s eyes rolling.

“But sure I’ll take tea.”

“Incredible. Second door to the left. Just sit and don’t break anything.”

Harry does as he’s told, represses the very funny move that would be throwing an incredibly expensive vase on the floor like a terrible cat, because, again, not very professional. So he just sits on the dark green armchair, and does that thing have golden arms? The wealth display really rubs him the wrong way, makes shivers run up his arms and back. So he gets out his notepad and feather, tries not to feel the crushing weight of this place’s history too much on his back.

Malfoy comes back with a tray holding delicate china.and Harry suddenly realises he hasn’t seen a single house elf. The question is out before he can stop it, because he’s never been one for holding back. 

“You live alone?”

The cups clatter when Malfoy loudly sets them down on the table, seemingly caught of guard by the question

“Is that part of the testimony, or are you just even ruder than I remembered?”

“No, it’s not, I just…” Harry’s almost feeling guilty, and fuck that because this is Malfoy we’re talking about! Regardless, his interlocutor drops in his own seat, drags a loose blonde curl up his forehead, and sighs. Malfoy’s let his hair grew a bit since school. It’s cut very short on the sides, combed on the top, and falls down over his left eyebrow. It looks fine, suits him more than whatever it was he was doing at 16. 

Harry goes so far as to think that Malfoy looks better than he did at 16, but really, who doesn't? His jaw is squarer and his cheekbones are well defined. He still looks like a fish dying right outside of the pond but, you know, a more grown up fish. A fish who travelled around the pond. He does have deep dark circles, but Harry is probably sporting some similar ones, so he doesn’t really have a place to talk. Also, the bruise on his right cheek is still there, a nasty purple stain that must hurt like hell, and Harry wonders if the medic forgot to do his job? He’s stopped in his assessment of his sworn enemy looks, because Malfoy finally answers his questions, a scowl on.

“Mostly, if you must know. Which really you musn’t but one of us has to be polite I suppose. Mother travels and stays there when she’s in england. And, you know, they took all the house elves in the trial. I’m not a shut in though. I do have friends. And the occasional burglar and pest.” He spits out the last word, squinting at Harry.

Harry lets that one fly because, again, higher road, professionalism and all that. Instead he points to his own cheek, asks.

“Didn't our medic fix that for you?”

Malfoy scoffs and crosses his arm. “  
“He told me it’s magical, and that he couldn’t do a lot about it. It will at least look tremendous on the pictures before it heals, so I’m looking on the bright side.”

“The pictures?”

“Yes, you know, the papers and all that. Traumatised heir of the Malfoy bloodline aggressed in his own home. When will his trouble end?”

“Please forget he ever was a war criminal.”

“That’s pretty much what I’d like them to write yes.” Malfoy takes a tea cup and and brings it to his lips. Harry starts to do the same hen he remembers his, very justified in his eyes, fears of being murdered today, and he hesitates, cup halfway raised. Malfoy seems to read his mind and rolls his eyes.

“By Merlin’s beard Potter, it’s not poisoned. If i wanted to assassinate you, and believe me, the thought becomes more attractive by the minute, I dare dream I’d come up with something a bit more elaborate than pouring poison in your cup.”

“Ah, so shall i add threatening an Auror to the list of your crimes?” But Harry still takes a sip. It’s good tea, very fancy.

“Please.” Malfoy rolls his eyes again, and Harry thinks his grey irises will just pop out of his skull at some point, with how often he does that. “That wasn’t a threat, I was merely making conversation. When I threaten you, you’ll notice it Potter.”

Harry clenches his feather and huffs. The tea might be good but the host is incredibly annoying. Might as well get this over with as quickly as possible. He falls in the familiar wording of the obligatory questions.

“So, what happened yesterday exactly? Don’t be afraid to get into details, everything compts.” 

Malfoy sighs, takes a long sip.

“I was upstairs, doing some repair work, when I heard some noise in the vestibule. I didn’t worry too much but I still went down, because I wasn’t expecting any company. I was in the stairs when I got punched in the face.” He points at his bruise. “Not even with a spell or anything. They really just punched me, with a fist and everything. I hadn’t been punched in a very long time and let me inform you Potter, it is not pleasant.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. This whole punching description is making his fists hitch. He thinks he wouldn’t be against giving the posh bastard a matching bruise on his left side. But you know, professionalism. Higher road. He takes another sip, keeps quiet so that Mafloy continues.

“Then they tied me up. And again, they still weren’t using a spell, just regular rope. I thought maybe they were muggles, but they shouldn’t be able to get through the gate, ever.” 

Harry hates the way Malfoy says muggle, like someone else would say cockroaches, but he keeps his mouth shut, lets his feather write it all down.

“So anyway, they put me in the bedroom where you found me, and then you know the rest.”

“Wait, they? So there were was more than one intruder?”

“They were two, yes.”

“Fuck, then one of them got away.”

“Yes. Have I told you you’re terrible at your job yet Potter?”

“Fuck off. Do you know what they were after?”

“No. He kept telling me I should start talking if I wanted things to go smoothly, but didn’t believe me when I said had no idea what he was talking about. It was absolutely infuriating. Almost half as awful as this interrogation.”

“Did you see what they looked like?”

“Well the one you caught yes, but I’m sure that won’t be of any use to our revered Aurors. The other one no, they’re the one who tied me up, and then they left to rampage the house. I didn’t see their face or hear their voice.”

“Right, so you’re totally useless.”

“Oh sorry to not be able to solve the crime while it was happening and I was getting assaulted inside my own home! I am terribly remorseful to not be able to do your job for you dear Auror Potter.”

“Alright alright I get it, Jesus.”

“I don’t know who that is and I do not care. Is this over? Can I be finally rid of you now?”

Harry is as sick of this as Malfoy is, so he picks up his stuff and leaves. Malfoy bids him good riddance and all but slams the door in his face. Harry takes the time to rub at his already painful forehead and to quickly curse his life, before apparating close to the Auror offices. He spends the rest of the day interrogating the perpetrator and filing paperwork.

He learns practically nothing from his interrogation. Either the man refuses to talk and is incredible at lying, or he doesn’t know anything. Harry leans toward the second option, but maybe this guy’s poker face is just that good. While doing the paperwork, he realises he didn’t fill half of the goddamn testimony file. He’s been doing this job for 5 years and he still is so terrible with paperwork. He lets his head hit his desk with an heavy bunk and groans in pain. So this day was totally useless. And he has to fucking go back to Malfoy’s manor to fill in the end, or his boss will definitely get on his back about it. This sucks so bad. This whole case is so terrible, Harry hates his entire life right now.

He decides he can do things the right way and send an owl to Malfoy to warn him of his next visit, in case the asshole has plans or something. Whatever, it’s at least a way to occupy the end of this awful day. Harry goes to write and ends up stuck at the first words. How the fuck is he supposed to address Malfoy? “Mr. Malfoy” makes shiver run down his spine. Just “Malfoy” at least gets the point across, but would look incredibly weird written down. “Dear Malfoy?” Harry snickers, the words sounding positively absurd.

He settles for no salutation, and quickly writes down:  
“Hi.  
I have some more questions to ask you, so I’ll have to come back tomorrow.  
H.P”

He sends the owl before he has the time to doubt himself. Malfoy’s owl comes back right before he leaves, a small 30 minutes later. It bites Harry’s fingers as he takes the letter.

“Alright, you weren’t raised in a barn. You were raised in a forest by wolves with no understanding of human communication. Seriously, “Hi”, “H.P?”? Have you never written a letter in your entire life?  
Regardless, since you so deeply wish to traumatize a traumatized victim, you may come at 4pm tomorrow. 

Regards, 

Draco Malfoy.

Ps: I told the owl to do that.”

Harry can’t help but laugh. That is so childish and typical of the 11 year old blond prick he wants to go back right there and smash his expensive vase. Also, Malfoy might have mocked his manners, but he didn’t know how to address him either. There’s no typical salutation for the sworn enemy you made at 11 and with whom you lost contact since graduating and are now forced to talk to. The owl leaves, not before sending him a dark look, and Harry thinks this snobby little evil thing is quite fitting for Malfoy. He reads the letter again, makes a mental note of 4pm, tomorrow, and stares at Malfoy’s signature for a beat too long.

It’s beautifully calligraphed, with well balanced loops and curves, in striking contrast with the quick barely readable chicken scratch of Harry The posh bastard must have had calligraphy classes as a kid. It’s funny, for a moment, to picture a small gremlin child bent over a piece of parchment, his tongue sticking out in the effort to write properly, and Harry smiles.

Ron comes to his side right at this instant, asks him what he’s smiling at. Harry isn’t about to answer “why 7 year old Malfoy of course” so he tells him he was just lost in thought, and he and Ron go down the stairs to meet with Hermione for their weekly pub night. He hasn’t seen Hermione in a while (she missed the last pub night, tragically buried in work), and she gives him a bone crushing hug.

They go to a muggle pub, close to Harry’s street, where the drinks are cheap and the music good. Hermione complains about her current workload, and Ron excitedly talks about his current case, but they quickly turn to Harry. A slow smile spreads on Hermione’s face.

“So, Harry. Ron told me about you new assigned case.”

“Yeah!” Ron spills some of his drink on the table in his glee. “Did you manage to leave him alive? How did you manage that? I admire your work ethic, really. Tell us everything, is he still absolutely insufferable?”

“I mean, mostly. His gate didn’t even let me in at first, and he slammed the door in my face. But you know, he made me tea and didn’t put poison in it.”

“That you know of!” Ron points a blurry finger in Harry’s direction. “Maybe it’s one of those slow acting poison.”

“He said he’d come up with something better than poison if he wanted to kill me.”

“Oh I’m sure. I bet the bugger’s got tons of creative ideas.”

“I don’t want to get too mean. I have to fucking go back tomorrow.”

“What? Why?”

“I...may have forgotten to fill half the testimony.”

“Oh my god Harry.” Ron’s laugh isn’t mean or mocking, and it makes Harry feel all warm inside. He’s an emotional drunk. 

Hermione sighs, contented. “Well isn’t all this very nostalgic. Feels like the good old school days. You know, without the yearly deadly threats.”

“What do you mean?” Harry’s brain is starting to feel pleasantly liquidy. Ron and Hermione look at him with disbelief, like he just asked a very stupid question. Did he just ask a very stupid question?

“You know, you talking about Malfoy and all.” Hermione does a vague hand gesture.

“What about me talking about Malfoy.”

“Harry, all you talked to me about in the 6th year was Malfoy.”

“He was being evil! Doing evil things and stuff! And I was thwarting evil!”

“Well yes sure, but you still spent your entire school years being unhealthily obsessed with him.”

“What?”

“Am I really breaking down walls here? Ron, help me out.”

“Oh yeah, you definitely were obsessed. I’m not blaming you or anything, we all had a lot on our plates. I’m sure hating that blond turd was a good way to let out steam. Like boxe or something.”

“I wasn’t obsessed! We were… We had a feud!”

“Yeah well it’s like my parents used to say Harry: 13 year olds aren’t supposed to have sworn enemies, or feuds really.”

Malfoy’s words echo in Harry’s mind: “No one holds any respect for long standing feud anymore.” Then he’s thinking of Mr. and Mrs Weasley talking about him as a kid and he feels absolutely mortified. He wants to defend himself, but then he’s thinking of a 16 year old Harry staring down at the marauder’s map in the dark of the night, furiously following a 16 year old Malfoy’s movements. And alright, maybe there’s some truth to what his friends are saying. But it was all for the good of humanity, and Malfoy was being evil that year, so it’s fine. It’s all fine.

He changes the subjects, and gets really really drunk, declares his eternal love to Ron and Hermione at least twice. They both laugh but they also tell him they love him back, pat his back and hug him tight, and he feels loved. There’s something warm and bubbly inside of him, and he’s pretty sure it’s only partially the alcohol.

When he gets home, he barely has the time to kick of his shoes and undress to his boxers before he crashes into bed, not looking forward to tomorrow’s headache. Strangely, his last thought before sweet blessed unconsciousness, is of a 7 year old Malfoy accidently spilling an ink pot all over his parchment, and he falls asleep laughing.


	3. Like talking to a iron gate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the relatively slow updates, I'm having more trouble with this fic than with my previous projects aha  
Still, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

For a few seconds upon waking up, Harry is blissfully unaware of anything, the world limiting itself to his blanket. And then a piercing hangover headache hits him, and he remembers he has to meet fucking Draco Malfoy for tea, and a bitter taste fills his mouth.

Groaning, he gets up and drinks water until he doesn’t feel like total death. Only partial death. He checks the hour and Jesus, it’s almost lunch time. Thank god his only item on today’s to do list is meeting with Malfoy because that is certainly not professional.

He drags himself to his shower, ties his hair in a short ponytail and tries to ignore the small gremlin piercing a hole inside his skull. He doesn’t keep hangover potion in his flat, likes to think that the hangover is the natural consequence to drinking the night before, that it’s a deserved pain. He really regrets that right now, but he clings to his principles and cooks an omelette. 

Thankful that he took his case folder home and can just work in his bed, he re-reads everything, but no epiphany makes its way to his ringing skull. Everything about the home invasion seems random, from the refusal of the burglar’s to explain what it is they want, to them being able to get in through the gate. He wonders if Malfoy could have lied to him, but doesn’t see any reason for it. Although Malfoy never needed a reason to be a thorn in his side.

And then it’s almost 4pm, and he feels like he wasted the whole day, so he grabs his things and apparates outside Malfoy manor. Oh great, this again. He tries to open the gate but no luck. The gate’s face open it’s iron eyes and stares down at him.

“You again? My, you’re becoming a regular! I assume you still don’t know the unlocking spell?”

“No. But I have a meeting with Malfoy, so would please just let me in?”

“Oh, aren’t you being almost polite today? I will ask the young master.”

That’s when Harry realises he has an unlikely witness in this annoying gate.   
“Hey, wait! What were you doing 2 days ago?”

“Being a guardian I assume. You understand I can’t exactly move from this spot right?”

“Well then how did 2 intruders get in? Are you just bad at your job?”

“Ah, so I see the politeness was nothing more than an act. I don’t remember letting anyone but you in in the past 3 days. But something strange did happen.” Harry pulls out his notebook and feather. “I think I might have been incapacitated. Because one second the sun was high in the sky, then it was low. But I don’t remember anything else.”

Suddenly, Malfoy’s voice resonates. He’s standing on the other side of the gate, hands propped on his hip, looking at Harry like he’s a particularly ugly cockroach that wandered on his cake. 

“Potter, why are you talking to my door?”

“Honestly, it’s far better at being a witness than you.” But Harry pockets his notebook and feather and lets himself in as the gate’s face goes back to its inanimate state.

“I’m sure. It’s 4 hour sharp Potter. Have you seriously never heard of a courtesy period?”

“It doesn’t apply to business meetings.”

“You’re impossible. It definitely applies whenever you come to someone’s house you idiot.”

“Am I catching you at a bad time? Do you want me to wait outside while you clean your bloody castle?”

“It’s always a bad time with you around. But get in, tea will get cold.”

“Tea?”

“Have you somehow lost your last braincells between yesterday and now? Yes, tea. Leaves in hot water, that you then drink. It is tea time after all.”

“Oh, right.” Harry does somehow feel like he lost some braincells, what with the whole hangover thing. They go into the same room as yesterday and Malfoy brings the tea. 

“You know,” Harry starts “This would be the perfect time to poison my tea, what after lulling me into a false sense of safety yesterday.”

“When I need your opinion on how best to kill you, I’ll be sure to ask Potter. But poisoning your tea is just as gauche as it was yesterday.” Harry can hear a smile in Malfoy’s voice, and it’s not an especially evil one, which is very weird, but it’s also doesn’t really feel bad? Harry sips his tea. It’s a different one than yesterday, but it’s just as good. Far more sweet too. Harry wonders if Malfoy always takes his tea like this, in this room and at the traditional time. But that has nothing to do with the interrogation, and really doesn’t matter at all, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Do I get to know your best assassination plots?”

“So you can see them coming and keep being the boy who lived? No thank you.” And there’s still that smile, like this is some kind of inside joke they share. Sharing an inside joke with Malfoy, Jesus is this day weird.

“So, did you have a break through that brought new questions, or did you forget to fill half of that interrogation?”

“That’s confidential information.”

“Ah, so the latter.” Malfoy takes a slow sip of his tea, and Harry could just punch him. But there’s also this joking tone between them now, and he also almost wants to snicker, like for once Malfoy poking fun at him is fine. He pushes the strange feeling of acceptance out of his heart and mind, and pulls out his notebook and feather.

“So, at what time exactly did you hear the intruders?”

“Seriously? You forgot to ask me the most basic question ever? Have I told you you’re terrible at your job yet?”

“Yes you have, and your protests are duly noted.” He shows Malfoy his notebook where he wrote down “Stop being a prick”. Malfoy scoffs but doesn’t reply. “Now could you please answer me?”

“Fine. I don’t remember the exact time because there wasn’t a clock where I was, but I started working at 1pm, so it must have been… 2 and a half? Give or take.”

“Right, that coincides with your gate’s testimony.”

“I cannot wait to see the trial where you ask for my goddamn door to come to the bar.”

Harry actually chuckles at that, before quickly stopping himself, because did he seriously just laugh at something Malfoy said? What the fuck? He looks down at his notebook, then back up at Malfoy, who looks incredibly awkward, like he also picked up on how weird this whole thing is, them sharing plaisantry around tea.

“Anyway.” Harry starts again. “I know you told me a bit about it yesterday, but do you remember exactly what that man said? Every detail counts.”

Malfoy sighs dramatically. “I mean it’s like I told you. He kept saying “you know what we want.” and “you better start talking soon” and I kept repeating I had no idea what he was talking about, and you know, upping the hysterics every time. Have I mentioned how deeply traumatic it all was?”

“Yeah, I even brought a blanket to put on your frail victim shoulders.” But Harry feels a pang of culpability at that, because Malfoy does look tense, behind all the joking. But well, fuck it, it’s Malfoy, right? But Harry still feels bad, for a reason he can’t exactly place. His voice is softer when he asks:

“Anything else you can remember?”

“The first thing he said was “This is even better. We don’t even have to look for it, he can just tell us where it is.” But then he didn’t tell me what it was they were looking for, which is just stupid? I think you have to look for someone very stupid Potter, that’s your best lead. Actually, have you checked in the mirror?”

Harry rolls his eyes and is about to reply with something that is sure to be snappy and hilarious, but then he hears footsteps in the vestibule, and instantly goes in Auror mode. Malfoy is about to say something when he sees him get up, but Harry shushes him. Malfoy looks hilariously offended, but Harry is too tense to laugh at it right now. He does save it in the back of his mind, to laugh at later though.

He takes out his wand and slowly heads for the door. Malfoy, who seems to have realised something is up, follows him. Harry peers through the door and sees a hooded figure, clearly trying to walk quietly. He throws a disarming spell and runs towards them, but they apparate away, letting Harry crash into a wall. He hears Malfoy laugh, but there’s a clear panic under it.

“What just happened?”

“You almost got burgled again is what happened! And my head hurts even more than this morning, you got thick fucking walls.”

“Yes, that’s how walls tend to be. That’s why most people don’t run headfirst into them. Wait, why did your head hurt?”

There’s something almost like concern in Draco’s voice, and that somehow freaks Harry out more than the hooded figure. Also now he has to tell him he got shitfaced the night before and he really isn't looking forward to it, but his head hurts too much to come up with a plausible lie. 

“I might have drunk a bit last night.”

“Getting shitfaced during the week? I know I’m repeating myself but really Potter, you’re absolutely bollocks at your job.”

“It was pub night!” Harry rubs at his forehead. God this really hurts, and he can already feel a bump forming.

“Urgh, gryffindors.” Disgust drips from Draco’s tone, but it almost feels overplayed, and then his voice is sincere when he continues. “I’ve got some hangover potion if you want.”

“No no, I’ll be fine.”

“Potter don’t actually force me to help you, that’s just incredibly tasteless. You look like you’re ready to pass out. Why, in the name of all that is holy, would you pass out on some definitely not poisoned hangover potion.”

“It’s cheating.”

“What could you possibly mean by that?”

“If you drink, you should suffer the consequences.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. And I’ve had my fair share of absolute nonsense coming out of your mouth since I was 11 but these past few days, it’s like you get more braindead at every sentence.” Harry hears him cast a locating spell, and then Draco is angrily shoving a bottle in his hands. “Do you refuse to bandage your wounds because it’s the ‘consequences of getting into a fight’ too? Gryffindors I swear.”

Harry relanctuly drinks the potion and yeah, alright, he does instantly feel much better. He thanks Draco, who only throws him a dark look. 

“I guess they really want whatever it is they want. I have to go back to the Aurore departments. I think we’ll have someone to guard your house. This case is starting to feel weird.”

“Alright.” Harry hands Draco he bottle back, and only now realises he looks incredibly tense, shoulders drawn back all the way and brows furrowed. Suddenly, Harry understands he’s afraid, no, fucking terrified of these intrusions. Harry wants to try to comfort him, and isn’t that the strangest fucking feeling ever, but nothing he could say would help in the moment. The only thing he can do to help is his job, and posting someone up on Draco’s porch will probably ease his mind.

“Hey, listen. I’ll have someone guard your door this evening. They won’t be able to come back.” A part of him wants to reach out and put his hand on Draco’s shoulder, but the rest of him screams in horror at the thought, so he keeps his arms close to his body. 

Draco looks half puzzled, half horrified at Harry trying to comfort him, but his shoulders do ease back down a little, so Harry’s satisfied. They part with awkward goodbyes, and Harry apparates to the Aurores headquarters, goes straight to his boss office. After he tells her of the second home invasion, she agrees to post a new recruit in front of the manor. It’s a young kid who’s been here for less than a year, and who Harry only tutored once.

He’s pretty sure that kid hates him, because he’s honestly a terrible teacher. The kid, named Jeremy, was reeling from a body he had just seen, and Harry had tried to comfort him by patting him on the shoulder. Except in Jeremy’s report, it had became a “violent hit that terribly scared him and left a bruise” so, maybe Harry isn’t that much of a people person anymore.

Thankfully, tomorrow is his day off, and it’s also the monthly Gryffindor pub night, so that will help get his mind off both the case and Draco. He’s incredibly tired of it all, hasn’t been this exhausted about anything in a while. As he pushes the door to his flat, Harry suddenly realises he’s been calling Draco well, Draco, in his head for the past few hours. And what the fuck does that even mean? 

The thought sparks panic. Is he starting to gain familiarity with his school-days sworn enemy? Is he going to end up trusting the posh bastard, just because they shared a flimsy inside joke for an afternoon? Is he this easy to win over, with nothing more than fancy tea and weak laughter? But it’s too late, Harry can’t go back to thinking of him as Malfoy. He tries to correct himself mentally, but the first name keeps slipping forward.

It doesn’t matter, is what Harry tells himself. So he thinks of Malfoy as Draco, and might be starting to find the bastard funny and his company tolerable, no big deal! Who has the time for sworn enemies anyway, in this economy? Work acquaintances is a much more normal type of relationship, and he’s fine with it switching to that. Wok acquaintances with a history so complex and ugly some of his trauma definitely sprouted from it. A work acquaintance that you once almost killed in a bathroom at 16. Totally normal relationship is what that is. Urgh, Harry doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to think about Draco or his weird burglars and even weirder small tight smile.

The next day, he wakes up late but still manages to clean out his whole appartement - really this time, he even cleans his windows - and makes a slow cooking dish he’s been meaning to try for a week now: it involves rabbit and mustard and wine and it’s got a complicated french name he didn’t bother to remember. It’s mouth wateringly good, and he feels a quiet feeling of pride set in his chest at the first bite. He doesn’t feel this way that often, so he takes the time to enjoy it, whistles as he does the dishes.

And soon enough it’s 8pm, and he leaves for the pub. They’re always the firsts there, with Ron and Hermione, but he likes it that way, likes to have his two best friends all to himself before everyone else starts filling the small wizarding pub. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy partying with all of his school friends, but he does feel more comfortable in small committees, where he can hear himself talk.

And things have gotten better, but after Ginny broke up with him, the Gryffindor hangouts were a nightmare. It was simply torture, to see her laugh loudly, and talk to anyone but him and dance with Luna, and laugh some more as the blonde girl kissed her neck. Once in a while, she threw him anxious or sad looks, and that was the worst of it all, to be pitied like that. So he just got as drunk as possible as quickly as he could, and tried to not feel the deep ache in his chest, tried to not feel anything.

It’s better though now! Well, he still gets so drunk he can barely walk by the time the night is over, but that’s just partying. It’s fun drinking, not sad alcoholic drinking! He can definitely tell the difference, it’s fine.

Regardless, right now he’s just in a corner booth with Ron and Hermione, is back to the wall. He likes that spot, can see all the exits from it. He knows that that’s probably just the trauma talking, and also knows that he’ll soon be too drunk to defend anyone, but he still likes it, makes him feel safe.

He’s already got a pleasant buzz going, and talking, as well as smiling, is easy. “So I got Jeremy to stand outside his door and like, guard him. But like, the weird thing is that he looked really scared, Draco I mean.”

“Wait wait wait” Ron seems to share Harry’s buzz, and he points a vague finger in his face. “What did you just call him?”

Harry realises he just fucked up. But well, whatever right? It doesn’t mean anything. “Draco?” His voice feels too high, like he got caught stealing a cookie and he’s still got crumbs all over his face. Ron and Hermione share a quick look that Harry has no idea how to even begin to decipher, and then they look back at him, same expression of half concern, half amusement on. It’s almost creepy, how their mouth turn in the exact same way.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing it’s just…” Hermione starts.

“Just like the good old days am i right?” Ron finishes. Harry doesn’t have the time to ask them what the fuck they mean, because Dean and Seamus walk up to their booth and start hugging everyone, and then everyone starts pouring in, and he can’t really talk to anyone for more than a few minutes and everyone’s dancing and the music sucks because this is a wizarding pub and it’s fine, it’s all fine and fun and grand! He stays in his corner, nursing drink after drink and keeping his eyes on all the exits, danger always on the back of his mind. He sees Luna and Ginny slowdance and he doesn’t look away, forces himself to think he’s alright with it now, tells himself he deserves the ain anyway.

And suddenly, over his seventh cocktail of the evening, he remembers he doesn’t have any hangover potion at home, and that tomorrow will be absolutely terrible because of tonight’s choices. He’s thinking back to Draco giving him some potion and offuscing at his principles. It’s such a small, normal gesture, but it’s so strange and huge coming from the weird lanky dipshit that is Draco. It’s like the tea, and the dumb inside jokes, it’s friendly. 

And isn’t that weirdly terrifying, the thought of friendliness with Draco, out of anyone? It’s so different from anything they’ve ever done it shouldn’t ever work. They should barely be able to restrain from cursing the other. And yet, Harry finds himself smiling fondly thinking of Draco berating him, in his small corner booth, chin in hand and glass almost empty. For one second, he pictures himself knocking on Draco’s door the next day just to ask him for some more hangover potion, and the absurdity of the thought makes him burst out in tired laughter. He’s too tired and too drunk to really worry about it, this weird friendship they’re dipping their toes in, so he simply enjoys the quiet happy feeling blossoming in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Hoped you liked this! You can come chat with me @kimodraw on twitter if you want. Kudos and comments are incredibly appreciated, especially now that ao3 doesn't show hits from unlogged users.
> 
> Have a nice day/evenning/night, wherever you are!


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